


Defense Counsel

by Actually_Felicity_Smoak



Series: YouTube AU [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, youtube au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Felicity_Smoak/pseuds/Actually_Felicity_Smoak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurel Lance works to ensure Oliver's big reveal doesn't ruin his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The truth is ... I am The Arrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338064) by [Actually_Felicity_Smoak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Felicity_Smoak/pseuds/Actually_Felicity_Smoak). 



"We need to build momentum, now." Laurel said. "We had a great launch, but we don't have very much time before.." she hesitated just a microsecond .. "Captain Lance.. will be out for blood. The DA's office can stall him for a few days, and in that time, we need to have public opinion firmly in our court."

Oliver nodded. The idea of having a majority of the city on his side seemed absurd to him. But so had doing the video as Oliver Queen; but Felicity had insisted he try, and it had turned out well. 

6 hours ago, the idea that _anyone_ might be on his side had seemed absurd. But Roy had sent the video to his friends, and within an hour it had hit the major news networks. And within two hours, Felicity had shown him page after page of tweets with the hashtag #ThankYouOliver. Not that they were universally good, of course -- Felicity hadn't been able to scroll fast enough to prevent him seeing the one that said, "Lost my home, my job, and my husband in the same day. #ThankYouOliver" -- and he wasn't sure he believed her firm statement, after the browser window closed, that the tweets were 54.3% positive. But he'd seen enough to know that, whatever the percentage, there were hundreds of people who genuinely believed he was a force for good in their lives. So whatever his private reservations, he wasn't going to argue with Laurel about what was and wasn't possible. _After all,_ he thought wryly, _she's the high-powered lawyer who reads faces for a living._

"What do you need from me?" he asked.  
\---------------------------------------  
Laurel had been thinking about this while tracking the viewership stats. Roy's suggestion that Oliver talk to him had resulted in a brilliantly intimate video, and it seemed best to build on that foundation.

"Stories, I think." She raised her voice to carry across the lair. "Hey, Roy!" She gestured him over. 

"Roy joined your team shortly after Blood's Unity Rally, right?"

Roy glanced at Oliver, then answered, "Um.. Yeah. Although I was doing some... freelance work on my own, before that." Oliver smiled at Roy's description.

"And I'm _guessing_ " Laurel said, smiling, "That he hasn't told you a lot about anything that happened before that." 

Roy again glanced at Oliver before saying, "Um... no. Not a lot."

"So what I'd like you to do, Ollie, is tell Roy here all about the stuff you did in the ... year.. and a half?... before he signed on with you."

Oliver looked at her questioningly. "You think this is the time for a departmental briefing to bring Roy up to speed on the history of Team Arrow?"

Laurel smiled. "Yes, Oliver. I think this is the perfect time to bring Roy up to speed."  
\-------------------  
Oliver might not be great at reading faces, but he knew Laurel very well. So he had no trouble hearing the unspoken part of her statement: _And I'm the one who's brought you your success so far. So it's my opinion of what actions to take next that we'll be using. Not yours._ He turned to Roy. 

"What do you want to know?"  
\-------------------------  
Leaving Felicity to handle the technical aspects of the filming, Laurel went to Thea's office to plan her next steps. There were a lot of moving pieces to this plan, and it was crucial she track all of them.

 _I should have at least a couple requests for interviews by now._ she thought. _I need to decide which ones to take, and when I can get to them._

_I need to convince the DA not to press charges_

_I need to convince Dad to bring as many charges as possible_

_We need to make sure we're monitoring social media real-time. Felicity can probably handle that, but I need to make sure she's watching the right things._

_This conversation with Roy is probably good for another... probably another half-dozen videos, maybe. Maybe more. So if we can get one edited tonight, it can be out when people wake up tomorrow. Then we should be able to release a new one every... 12 hours? 8 hours? If that happens, we'll have all the city used to waiting for us, and talking about us, at set times. That's good. We can have... 5 videos out by the time the DA's office opens on Monday. Maybe 7. But we also need enough of a public spectacle to justify the DA deciding to investigate rather than make an instant decision..._


	2. Saturday, 06:00:00 AM

The video was on a channel at YouTube.com/OliverQueen. We had no idea what to expect, but of course some of us clicked Subscribe. I did. I mean, it doesn't hurt anything, right?But I wasn't expecting to have a new video there when I checked my YouTube subscriptions the next day. But there it was.

**6AM: Losing Queen Consolidated**

I remembered the headlines -- something about a hostile takeover and temporary CEOs -- but of course the primary thing the tabloids had focused on was the fact that Oliver Queen, playboy billionaire, was now broke. Homeless. I remember the jokes about him moving to the Glades to ... well, let's just say all the proposed new job options were .. crude. 

But hey, the video was only 2:37. What the hell? I clicked. 

  


This time Queen was sitting down. It looked like he was maybe on a stool, with his hands clasped between his legs. 

"I lost the company... I mean... I lost the company through my own stupidity, to be honest. That's the short version.  
The long version... well..."

Queen looked thoughtful. 

"I guess let's start with the terrorists, last year. We'd known that something was up for a long time. The terrorists had been injected with a drug called mirakuru -- the Japanese were using it in WWII to try to create miracle soldiers. As many of you discovered firsthand, the mirakuru makes people incredibly strong and durable, but also uncontrollably angry."

  


_Terrorists on steroids? It explained a lot, actually. I'd been lucky enough to be indoors, in a building that hadn't been hit, when the terrorists attacked last year, but the stories I'd heard were bad enough -- terrorists ripping off car doors, breaking through brick walls, and the like. No one could understand what was happening._

  


"We knew that mirakuru was being used when a centrifuge was stolen from Queen Consolidated labs -- a centrifuge is critical to the manufacture of mirakuru, and also too heavy for one person to move without ... you know. Being chemically modified.  
We managed to destroy the stolen centrifuge, and all the mirakuru they had, but we knew we needed a way to stop them from making more. "

  


_OK, but what did this have to do with the Queen fortune?_

  


"I'd been neglecting the company more and more, trying to track down who was involved in the plot, how they were getting the mirakuru, and what their plan was, so that we could stop them. We'd found out that the head of the conspiracy had been injected with mirakuru, and figured out that they were synthesizing his blood to generate more."

Queen's expression turned grim. 

"Unfortunately, he knew that I was the Arrow. He targeted my company, my mother, and my sister.  
On the night of the board meeting, he'd kidnapped Thea. SEC requirements meant we had to have the CEO present at the board meeting, and there was no way to keep Queen Consolidated legal while also saving my sister. So..."

Queen shook his head, almost disbelievingly.

"I gave the company away."

  


_I blinked._  
_The Queen fortune was stupid-big. If you took every one of us in the Glades, and added up all the money we would each make in a lifetime, you wouldn't have as much money as Queen Consolidated processed in a year._  
_I admit, my first thought was,_ If you were going to give it away, why didn't you give it to me?  
_Then the implications caught up to me._ He gave the company away? To save his his sister? _I've always hated the Queens, kind of on principle, but man, it's hard to hate a guy who would give away billions rather than delay looking for his sister for a couple hours._

  


"Which turned out to be _exactly_ the wrong decision, since, as it happens, Isabel Rochev was part of the conspiracy. When I gave her the company, I also gave the terrorists full access to Queen Consolidated's applied science labs, with which to generate mirakuru. "

  


_Oh, good. That meant I could go back to hating him in peace._

  


"So we ... took out ... the applied science labs' ability to process chemicals."

  


_Dammit_

  


" At which point the terrorists broke into STAR labs' warehouse, where they found tech that ..."

Queen broke off and shook his head.

"Anyway, that's a different story. But ... yeah. I lost Queen Consolidated when I gave it away to a terrorist cell. So...  
Yeah." 

Queen shot me a rueful look as the video ended. 

  


I checked out other vids in my subscription until it was time to get ready for work -- working on Saturdays sucks, but at least this company paid shift-diff for it. But it was Queen's video I kept thinking about.  
Man, I wanted to blame him for the terrorists. I attended a lot of closed-casket funerals in the week following. But...

I mean, what more can one person be expected to do? And...

I re-watched the video on my lunch break, to check my memory. Queen looked like he regretted his actions, sure. But every time I watched it, I couldn't see any remorse when he talked about losing his fortune. When he talked about Rochev being a terrorist, sure. Also -- what the hell? -- when he talked about the terrorists knowing that he was the Arrow. But it sure as hell _looked_ looked like all of Queen's remorse was for failing to stop the attack, and none at all for having become broke and homeless in the process of trying ...


	3. Saturday 02:00:00 PM

"When I was 8, my best friend's mother was murdered. Outside a subway stop near Pap street.  
"I remember going to the funeral. I remember seeing Tommy's dad. I remember they never spoke, not once, through the whole day.  
"I guess a lot of people go a little crazy when their spouse is killed. Tommy's dad was never really warm and supportive - he wasn't going to win dad of the year or anything - but he was still the one who tucked Tommy into bed, the one who gave him piggyback rides -- your dad is your dad, you know?  
"But after his wife was killed, that all changed. Some people, when they lose family, turn to drinking. Some turn to drugs. Some become stronger, and care more for the family they have left. Some, I'm sure, fantasize about getting revenge on whoever took their loved one away from them.  
"Malcolm Merlyn had the means to indulge that fantasy."

Queen ducked his head, his expression torn between amused and ashamed. 

"We finally got the crucial details by kidnapping my mother. I'd confronted her as the Arrow, and she shot me. I mean, she didn't know it was me, obviously. So yeah, she shot me.  
"I'd confronted her as myself, and she refused to answer any questions; she begged me not to endanger our family by pushing the issue. She seemed sincere enough .. I mean... of course I wanted to believe that my mother actually cared about me. It seemed worth a shot. So..." 

Queen took a deep breath, as if realizing he'd started to babble.

"So a friend dressed up as the Arrow, and kidnapped Mom and me. He tied us both to chairs, and hit me until Mom started talking."

Now Queen was grinning outright. "Worked, too. As soon as my chair got knocked over, she couldn't spill the beans fast enough."

Then his smile faded.

"She told us that Malcolm intended to destroy the Glades, and make it look like a natural disaster. Malcolm had discovered that Unidac Industries had a machine that could be used to create an earthquake; my parents had been brought into the conspiracy so Queen Consolidated could buy Unidac and direct its research towards that end.  
"My team tracked down the device. Geologic data meant that it had to be positioned underground, along a particular subway line. When I realized that Rebecca Merlyn had been murdered at one of the subway stops along that line, I was confident that was where Malcolm would choose to position the machine. But we had a problem: the device could be triggered by a timer, or by a remote detonator. We had to stop both in order to stop the earthquake.

There was a long pause this time, while Queen wore the expression of someone who didn't like what he was about to say.

"Detective Lance saved us.  
"He threw away everything that night. His career, his income... he could have gone to prison for defying the orders of his superior. But he didn't care. All he cared about was saving lives. He broke into the subway station, found the device, and followed the instructions to disarm it.

"It didn't work.  
"Malcolm had added a third back-up -- he'd modified the device from its system schematics, so that even if you disabled the primary detonator, the timer would still set the device off.  
"With less than a minute on the timer, Lance was instructed to evacuate. He wouldn't go. He insisted that if there was _any chance_ we could figure out how to disable the backup, we had to have someone nearby to disarm it.  
"If we hadn't been able to figure out the modification in time, Lance would have been the first to die. He decided, that night, that he'd rather die, underground and alone, than risk anyone else dying when he had a chance to prevent it.  
"I know a lot of people in the Glades aren't very fond of the police, and of Captain Lance in particular. I understand."

Queen smiled, a little half-smile. "I've had my run-ins with him myself.  
"But whatever else he is, Quentin Lance is an honorable and courageous man. And the fact that there were 500 deaths that night instead of 10,000... is entirely due to his honor and his courage. So it is only fair that I say: Thank you."

\------------------------------

"Queen?? Oliver Queen? Laurel! All this time you've been helping the man who killed your sister?"

"He didn't kill Sara, Dad. She survived that boat trip. You _know_ that."

"Yeah, survived to become a vigilante, just like him. Only it killed her, while he walked away."

"Dad, that doesn't even make any sen..." Laurel cut herself off. Arguing with the police captain was not going to achieve her goals. She straightened up and put on her assistant-DA expression.

"The district attorney's office will need to know what charges you wish to be brought."

"Oh, I got a list. Murder .. vandalism .. trespass .. arson .. "

"Arson?" Laurel was diverted. _Has Oliver burned down a building?_

"You remember two years ago? Three firefighters dead in 10 days? Oh I just bet that was him. And he's gonna pay." 

"You think Ollie ... what? Killed firefighters to ... ruin Tommy's CNRI benefit?" Laurel didn't have to even try to put contempt in her voice.

"Ollie? It's Ollie again, is it?"

"What I call him has nothing to do with the charges brought by the DA's office. But you'll never get arson to stick."

"Oh you just wait. I'll show you what can stick."

Laurel walked away, seething. On the minus side, making her dad angry always resulted in her losing her temper as well. But on the plus side, making her dad angry was _really easy_. And angry people make miscalculations. 

To calm herself, she pulled out her phone. She'd had Felicity on speed dial for a while now; for the last few days she'd dialed almost no one else. "Felicity? Yeah, hey. What do our stats look like?"

"They shot up this morning -- 63.2% positive among those who've seen 'Losing Queen Consolidated'. 'The Undertaking' dropped it some -- Lance is still not popular with this crowd, which you kind of can't blame 'em for considering the good captain tends to take his temper out on the residents of the Glades. I mean. Um... Can we pretend I didn't say that last part?"

Laurel smiled. "Absolutely. Where are we at now?"

"Thanks. You're the best. Um... 59.8% positive overall. 

"Good. And is everyone there?"

"Digg's on lookout, but Oliver and Roy are here."

"Perfect. I have an assignment for Roy. I'll be there in 10."


	4. Barn-raising

“Roy, do you know what a barn-raising is?”

As always, when he was uncertain, Roy glanced at Oliver before speaking. “I … not really?”

“Common in early pioneer communities along the frontier.” Felicity spoke up. “Whenever one family in the area needed something built, every family in the area would come to help out. It created a sort of communal labor pool, minimized risk, and provided social ties.”

“Exactly.” Laurel smiled. “Which are exactly the benefits this city needs. So Roy, I need you to find me a barn-raising.”

Roy glanced at Oliver again. “A what?”

“Some kind of project in the Glades. Something that needs to be done, but the people who need it done can’t afford to hire someone to do it. Cleaning up, or building out, or moving stuff -- something that, if a bunch of people pitched in and helped, would only take a few hours, but is too big a project for just 2 or 3 people to do.”

Roy nodded. “OK.” He glanced at Oliver again. “I’ll go see what Sin and I can dig up.” He gave another, firmer nod, and grabbed his hoodie. 

“Thanks!” Laurel favored him with another smile before turning to Felicity.

“Think you can get Palmer to spring for drinks and pizza?”

With an expression startlingly like Roy’s, Felicity glanced at Oliver before saying, uncertainly, “I don’t know. I… kind of … haven’t shown up for work in two days.” Her voice got smaller. “Or… gone… gone home.”

Laurel looked over to the lab table, where Oliver was staring at the floor and pretending not to listen. “Ollie, could you give us a minute?”

Oliver looked up at her, briefly, then gave a sharp, jerky nod and left without a word.

Laurel moved over to lean against Felicity’s desk. “So… how are things with you and Ray?”

Felicity closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. I like Ray. I really do. He’s smart, and he’s fun, and we get along really well. He laughs at all my jokes. Plus he’s drop-dead gorgeous, and the sex is … “ Felicity smiled, and sighed. “Really good. And he’s totally OK with the fact that I’m smarter than him. Do you know how rare that is? To find a guy who will actually turn a project over to you because you’re more qualified to do it than he is?”

Laurel laughed. “I actually do have some inkling. Although, to be fair, Ollie’s actually been really good about this whole YouTube thing. And… Ollie trusts you a lot. He never tries to take over the tech stuff from you.”

Felicity started to glare, but dropped her eyes instead. “The thing is, no matter how much I tell myself that I love Ray, and I’m serious about this relationship … The data don’t support it. Because the fact is that when Oliver needs me, I don’t hesitate to drop out of Ray’s life for 48 hours. Worse… I don’t even notice that I’m _doing_ it. What kind of girlfriend does that make me?”

_A pretty good one, actually._ Laurel thought. _Just not to Ray._ But as long as both Oliver and Felicity were in denial, there was no benefit to speaking the thought out loud. Instead she said, “You know I’m not asking you to do this as Palmer’s girlfriend, right?”

Felicity stopped spinning in her chair, and turned to face Laurel directly. “How so?”

Laurel shifted to sitting cross-legged on the desk. "Did you ever meet Tommy?" she asked. 

Felicity shook her head. "I mean I was in the room with him a couple times. I think I shook hands with him once. But Oliver was in his crazy 'keep everyone away from me' phase, so ...."

Laurel nodded. "I grew up with Ollie and Tommy; we went to the same school, we went trick-or-treating together... I've known them a long time. It puts me in this funny position, because I've shared meals with most of the wealthy people in this town -- I've attended their cocktail parties, watched their tennis matches, witnessed bar mitzvahs and confirmations and weddings and baby showers. But I'm still a cop's daughter, you know? I know these people, but I'm _not_ these people, no matter how well Moira taught me to fake it."

Felicity nodded. "My mother is a cocktail waitress in Vegas."

Laurel smiled. "Yeah, exactly. But the thing is ..." Laurel pulled her knees up to her chest, "... I know Robert's list was all from the 1-percenters, but that's because Malcolm recruited from his own circles. It doesn't mean that all 1-percenters are on the list."

"Sure." Felicity said. "A is a subset of B does not imply that B is a subset of A."

"Um... yeah. Is that what I just said?"

Felicity smiled. "More or less. But go on."

"The point is, winning public opinion in this city means winning over more than just the Glades. The Glades are the most important part -- certainly for Oliver -- but if we get them behind us while the rich are opposed, we're just stirring up more class conflict, instead of solving the problem. Whereas, if we can get support for Ollie from both the Glades and the 1%, we can fill in the middle classes pretty easily."

Felicity nodded, following the logic. "You think we can get support from the onepercenters? After all the Arrow has done to them?"

"Absolutely." Laurel dropped her feet off the desk and leaned forward. "There are a lot of the elite who have long despised what their colleagues were doing, and the way it hurt the city. But they are, by onepercenter standards, a lot poorer than the Merlyns or the Queens. They only have the money to commission a private jet, not maintain one, you know? And usually a lot of their business depends on contracts from Queen Consolidated or Merlyn Global, so they just shut up and let it happen. But if we gave them a chance to stand up for what's right ..."

"They would publicly declare support." Felicity's expression went blank, and her eyes started moving rapidly, as if she were looking at computer screens no one else could see. "And maybe contribute financially. We could make this thing self-supporting!" Her eyes focused on Laurel again. "Is that what you've been planning?"

Laurel nodded, and gave a kind of sigh. "That's the long-term game. But dad's going to be in the DA's office in.. " she checked her phone " .. 41 hours, and by that time, I need to have a visibly broad base of support. I need one millionaire to be demonstrably interested in the cause, this weekend." She broke off, and made eye contact with Felicity. "Do you think Ray might be interested?"

Felicity leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. "Maybe. He cares a lot about this city. He's already sunk a fortune into that suit of his, trying to prevent something like the Mirakuru incident from ever happening again ... " She suddenly sat up and looked directly at Laurel. "Um... can you ... _not_ mention to anyone that I told you about Palmer Technology's super-secret tech project?"

Laurel grinned. "How about we say I'm your lawyer, and anything you tell me falls under client confidentiality?"

Felicity smiled, and closed her eyes, and nodded. "That would be fantastic." She leaned back again. "And, I mean, pizza and soda for a barn-raising is not that much money. But if we're going to claim it as 'public support' for Oliver, I want to make sure Ray is OK with that. I'm not going to trick him into being part of our cause."

Laurel shook her head. "That would do more harm than good anyway. I want him in for real. But if what he wants is to help the city, this is an easy and effective way for him to do that. We're not asking him to stop work on the .. " Laurel grinned "super secret tech project about which I know nothing.... but there's no reason not to try both. The Mirakuru incident only worked because Slade could hide in the Glades and no one noticed what he was up to. If we'd had functional police infrastructure and a reliable missing-persons system, he could never have gotten as far as he did. We need to make that video ..." Laurel trailed off and pulled out her phone, typing frantically. 

\---------------------------

Felicity spun her chair back and forth, thinking it through. Community. Risk Reduction. Social Ties. This could work. This was a _good_ plan, that might fix the long-term problems. And it involved less of Oliver being shot at, which was one of the primary criteria by which Felicity judged any plan. Ray would like it too, once she explained it to him. It was a simple troubleshooting problem, really -- it's far more elegant to view the problems in Starling as corollaries of one underlying issue. And if that's the case, the obvious solution is to fix that issue. 

That decided, she reached for her phone. And then cringed. No matter how good an idea this was, this conversation was going to be _awkward_.


	5. Saturday, 10:00:00 PM

This video didn’t show Queen at all, to start with. Or, rather, it didn’t show Oliver. It started with a piece of Moira Queen’s press conference, the one where she confessed to being part of the Undertaking.  


“My name is Moira Dierdre Queen. And, God help me, I have failed this city.”

Then it cut to Oliver. He was on the stool again, his expression very still. After a few seconds, he raised his eyes to look at me.

“That’s what I said, when I confronted the … the people on my list. I’d track them down, find out what they’d done wrong. Find that Adam Hunt had scammed 40 million dollars from people in Starling. Then I’d catch him alone, and say,"

His voice changed -- run through an electronic synthesizer I guess. It sounded like the gravelly bass rumble I’d heard described

“Adam Hunt. You have failed this city.”

His eyes drifted off to the side, but it didn’t look like he was looking at anything. More like.. remembering, maybe. When he spoke again, his voice was back to normal.

“I remember thinking that the city was… broken. It always seemed wrong to me. But I couldn’t figure out what the problem was. I just… nothing felt right, but I couldn’t pin it down.  
Malcolm Merlyn claimed that the problem was the Glades. That if we could just run out all the thugs and druggies, it would all be safe again.  
But that didn’t feel right. I mean, I used to spend half my life in nightclubs. Alcohol… drugs ... were the people who supplied us with that stuff the problem? Or the people who took the same stuff I did, but on the streets instead of in a club?"

Oliver shook his head. His gaze shifted -- if I’d been there, he would have been looking just over my head. 

“When dad died… it all made sense.” 

His gaze dropped to mine. 

“If everything he’d done, if everything Merlyn did …"

He sighed. 

"The book my dad gave me could have been our Christmas card list. These were our friends.  
But if everything we’d done, everything all our friends had done .. if that was _wrong_ , then everything else made sense. It wasn’t the Glades; it wasn’t the gangs. I knew what the problem was."

His expression went hard. 

"And I knew how to fix it.  
For twenty-two years, I failed this city. But I am done being a cancer. I am done standing by while others do evil”.

He stood up, still looking straight at the camera.

“My name is Oliver Queen. And I am going to save this city.  
And I hope you will help me.”


	6. Sunday, 06:00:00 AM

“YouTube!”

This morning’s video opened with Oliver seated on the stool again, this time wearing a plain black T-shirt. His opening exclamation managed to convey, somehow, that he was both surprised and delighted that you had clicked on his video. 

“I need your help. 

“I told you from the beginning that I don’t have the best tools to save this city. Sure, I can help here or there, but the people of this city need more than just an occasional mob boss being taken down. They need food and jobs and shelter, and I can’t help with that. 

“But you can. 

“Many of you know that the Saint Francis Soup Kitchen was damaged during the terrorist attack last year, and has still not been repaired. 

“That’s not for lack of materials. No, the Red Cross was actually able to get them enough shingles to re-do the entire roof about 2 months ago. But the money to pay roofers … that got tied up in red tape, and they’re still arguing the legalese. Until the roof is repaired, St. Francis is operating at half-capacity, not able to help out as much as they’d like. 

“Well a new roof doesn’t require money, or lawyers. And it doesn’t require a bow and arrow, either. All it requires is people who care. People who can swing a hammer, or lift a bale of shingles, and who are willing to give a little time to make Starling a better place. 

“So here’s the plan. At 1:30 today, meet at St. Francis at 20th and Myra. There will be materials, and tools, and people to train you. All you need to bring is you, and a willingness to help those in need.

“1:30. 20th and Myra. Save this city.” 

Oliver gave a firm nod, and the camera clicked off. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

I sat thinking about it for a while. 

It went against my gut to do anything a Queen told me to do. But I _did_ know St. Francis -- I’d had more than a few meals there. They were good people, and they’d more than earned a few hours’ labor from me. 

It was a good idea. And if I was going to be completely honest, part of my anger was that the idea hadn’t occurred to me. We’d all known that one of their kitchens was closed after the roof caved in. We’d all known the shingles were sitting there, waiting to be installed. We’d all bitched about the bureaucratic jackasses who refused to cover the cost of a roofer. And yet not once had it occurred to any of us that _we have the skills to fix this problem._ There were lots of roofers in the Glades -- construction was one of the hardest industries to outsource to China. Why not just fix the problem?

I checked the clock -- 10:30. That gave me time for a quick nap before I headed over. 


	7. Community Building

Diggle stood watching the gathering crowd. He was as nervous as anyone about this plan -- if Laurel didn’t have the support she thought, it was going to be a tremendously embarrassing flop.

_It could be worse, Sergeant. You could be back in Afghanistan. At least no one is shooting at you._ But a part of him couldn’t forget that riots were more dangerous than suicide bombers, in most circumstances. A hammer that could fix a roof could just as easily cave in a skull. 

All of those factors combined to make him the logical choice for this assignment. He had the military experience to recognize and respond to a threat, if one appeared. His military training also included some basic construction work, and experience in organizing groups of people to complete an assigned task. As a former resident of the Glades, he was less likely to put their volunteers on edge than Laurel, Felicity, or Oliver. And if it did turn out to be a flop, he could handle embarrassment better than Roy. 

Diggle perked up a bit on the inside, spotting the one thing he had most hoped to see today: a man walking up with coveralls, a hard hat, and a tool belt. He waited until the man had stepped inside the gate, then approached him for a handshake. 

"John Diggle, special forces, retired." 

The man returned the handshake firmly. "Peter Hudson. Handyman." Diggle was pleased to see no sign of intimidation in Hudson's face, nor hear any in his voice. "I take it you're in charge here?"

Diggle smiled. "Actually, Mr. Hudson, I was hoping that would be you."

Hudson looked startled for a second, then nodded. "I suppose vigilantism doesn't involve a lot of construction work." His tone was challenging. 

Diggle met his eyes with a level gaze. "It involves a lot of figuring out how to get the job done, no matter what. If you hadn't shown up, I'm sure we'd have gotten the roof on just the same. But one thing the army taught me is to always give the job to the best man for the job. Sir."

Hudson paused, and then smiled. "Call me Peter."

"Digg."

\------------------------------------------

Peter had shown up about 15 minutes early, which gave them some time to plan out what needed to be done, and in what order. Peter was dividing the volunteers into teams: one to tear off the old roof; one to haul away debris; one to prep the shingles; one to paper the roof; one to add the new shingles. Digg was back to the bodyguard routine, content to leave it to Peter as long as Peter didn't need his help. So he was scanning the sidewalks when he saw two familiar faces arrive: a young man in a red hoodie, and a young woman wearing -- he was sure -- the rattiest clothing in which Thea Queen had ever been dressed in her life. 

Digg raised an eyebrow at Roy: _What is she doing here?_

Roy rolled his eyes and shrugged, which Digg had no difficulty interpreting as _"Not worth fighting over."_ They joined the end of the line. 

Peter raised a couple more notches in Digg's estimation by treating Thea no differently from the other volunteers. An astute observer would have noticed the slightly longer pause as he tried to decide where to assign her, but all he said was, "I'm gonna have you with them, moving material as needed." Thea nodded, and went to join the designated group. 

"How are you with heights, young man?" Peter asked Roy. 

Roy laughed a bit, his eyes going to the roof of the single-story soup kitchen, but all he said was, "Heights are not a problem, sir."

"We'll have you start tearing the shingles up, then. There's a ladder 'round back."

Digg met Roy's eyes, and they both grinned. Digg had spotted at least two ways onto the roof without a ladder, and Roy had probably spotted more -- he'd been a fair parkour champ even before Oliver started training him. Digg flashed his best drill-sergeant don't-even-think-about-it look. Roy laughed, and gave a reassuring wave as he headed to the back of the building. 

\----------------------------------------------

Digg touched his earpiece. "We're all good here. Final count looks to be 19."

"Roger that." Felicity's voice came in his ear. "I'll round up to 25, in case any stragglers show up. I assume extra food won't go to waste."

Digg's eyes strayed to the handful of volunteers who had arrived at 1:30 on the dot, simply by walking out the front doors of the soup kitchen. "No. It certainly won't." Then, just because it was nice to chat on the earpiece when he wasn't getting shot at, he added, "How's Laurel's interview going?"

"Laurel knows what she's doing. You just focus on your part."

\----------------------------------------------

Peter seemed to have things well in hand, so Digg went back to surveying the area, checking for any teams that were struggling, or that he should call Peter's attention to. About 3/4 of the old roof had been torn up, and Roy had been moved from tearing up to laying out paper. The debris-hauling team had been split, and some of them were passing materials up to the teams on the roof. Diggle watched as Thea went to pick up the other end of a roll of paper, only to have the person she'd tried to help drop his end and walk away. Thea's lips thinned, but she only re-centered her grip, and carried the roll over by herself. 

Diggle moved closer: the other three of the material-passing team were following her, in a way that set off his military instincts. Sure enough, as Thea turned around, she found herself face-to-collarbone with three ... the word Digg's brain supplied was "thugs". 

"What you think you're doing here, Queen?" the middle one demanded.

Digg shifted his weight, preparing to intervene, when Thea's voice rang out, angry and unapologetic. 

"What do you _think_ I'm doing here?" she demanded. "Malcolm Merlyn was my biological father - he engineered the Undertaking. My biological mother assisted. _My family is responsible for all this._ " Thea took a step closer, and the three took half a step back. "Haven't you been complaining about me for years? Haven't you been saying that I'm useless, that I'm stuck up? Didn't you say that if I was actually sorry about what my family did, I would be down here, helping?" She took another step forward. "So don't give me crap when I show up and actually do something." She pushed past them to pick up another paper roll, and they turned to stare after her. 

Digg cleared his throat. "Don't you boys have some work to be doing?"

All three of them jumped, then looked over at him. Then they exchanged glances, and went back to their assigned tasks.

Digg turned back to the soup kitchen, and caught Roy standing on the edge of the roof, clearly just shy of having jumped down to intervene himself. Digg was pretty good at reading the facial expressions of emotionally reserved men, and smiled at the look Roy was giving Thea. If he'd been a more expressive type, Roy would be whistling and shouting "you go girl." Instead, he just turned back to his work with a smile that combined pride, happiness, and "Holy shit, I'm a lucky guy."

"That you are, Roy." Digg murmured. 

\----------------------------------------------------

By 5:00, the hole in the roof had been repaired, and the volunteers were munching happily in St. Francis' dining hall. Digg took his plate and leaned against a pillar. Part of the reason he stuck with bodyguarding was that it let him keep his back to walls -- he had never learned, after Afghanistan, to feel comfortable standing in the middle of a room. Thea joined him, holding a plate with lasagna, fried chicken, and a taco. "Interesting variety of food."

"Roy's idea." Digg said. "He pointed out that as long as we were going to spend money anyway, to feed the volunteers, we might as well spend the money at local restaurants. Boost the economy here, and create more of a community feeling than ordering from Pizza Hut would. But we didn't want to overwhelm any one restaurant with an order they couldn't handle, so we decided to place several smaller orders with a bunch of different restaurants."

Thea smiled. The pride in her face reminded Digg of Roy's expression as he'd watched her handle the thugs this afternoon. Speaking of which...

"Didn't expect to see you here today." he said.

Thea shrugged. "I like working. I like moving. I've missed the workouts since I left Corto Maltese. And..." her voice dropped ".. I like spending time in the Glades, hanging out with the people here. It's something _he_ would never do." On the last sentence she glanced up at Digg, half nervously and half defiantly. 

Digg thought it through for a while, trying to imagine what kind of inner demon Malcolm Merlyn represented to her. Finally he said simply, "You did good today."

Thea's answering smile was a joy to see.

\-------------------------------

"Mr. Diggle, I can't thank you enough..." Digg held up his hand, and the head of St. Francis paused, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Happy to help, ma'am, but it's really Mr. Hudson you should be thanking. He got everything organized and helped everyone do it right. Can I introduce you?"

Peter accepted her thanks with equal humility, insisting that he was happy to have helped, and sorry he couldn't do more. "With a few more hours, we could repair the other half of the roof, too. And I'm sorry we didn't have a chance to clean up in there." He gestured to the shelter's second kitchen, covered in dirt and leaves from the year it had been open to the sky. 

"Oh, no, what you've done is really wonderful, I'm sure we can take it from here."

"Some of these people might be available next week." Digg said. "Would you like me to make an announcement?" 

\------------------------------

"How'd it go?" Felicity asked.

John took off his jacket, and laid it on one of the lab tables. "Good. We got half the roof done. About 2/3 of the volunteers said they'd come next week, to help finish the job." He looked over to the workout area, where Oliver was salmon-laddering. "What's up with him?"

Felicity sighed. "He saw Laurel's interview."

John raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said it went well."

"I said Laurel knows what she's doing." Felicity corrected. "He's having trouble believing that."

"Maybe I'd better see this interview." John said.

Felicity nodded, and turned to her computer. "Maybe you'd better use headphones." she said, with a glance at Oliver.


	8. Sunday 2:00:00PM: Vengeance

“I met Helena Bertinelli after someone from the Triad shot my mother while aiming for her father.”

Oliver paused, as if contemplating the complexity of that relationship. Then he shook his head as if shaking off a fly, and continued.

"Someone in the city was targeting Bertinelli's organization, taking them down one by one, working to destroy his power, his wealth, and his reputation.  
"Now I wasn't going to cry any tears over an organized criminal losing his criminal organization. But whoever was targeting him had bad aim, and didn't care how many bystanders they hurt. So I was trying to track him down, trying to figure out if he worked for the Triad, or for Bratva, or some other family." 

Oliver shook his head, ruefully now.

"Turned out it wasn't another family. And it wasn't a him. It was Helena. Destroying her own father, piece by piece.  
"I found her. I asked her."

Oliver sighed.

"She explained. Her father had killed her fiance. Worse, he'd killed her fiance for an offense he didn't commit. Helena wanted what she called 'justice.'  
"I offered to work with her. To collect enough evidence that we could send her father to prison forever, break up his organization, ruin his fortune.  
"She didn't want him to go to prison. She said it wasn't enough. She wanted him to suffer, as she had - to see everything he had slipping away from him, to try to save it, and feel despair when he couldn't..."

Oliver broke off, and swallowed, like someone trying to keep his lunch down. 

"She wanted ... to torture him. And I couldn't .. "

His eyes met mine, his expression pleading. 

"Organized crime is a terrible plague on our city. But torture .. indiscriminate violence ... that's a cure worse than the disease."

He hung his head, and addressed his next words to the floor. 

"And I'm no better than Helena, really. I came back to this city angry. Angry at the conspiracy that had tried to kill me. Angry at the millionaires who would sacrifice others' lives and property in order to become just a bit richer. Angry at a city that tolerated it instead of -- somehow -- solving it.  
"For months, I ran my crusade on that anger. But anger can't stop a poison. It only replaces one plague with another.  
"It ... "

Oliver's voice hardened, as if he were defying tears.

"It took the loss of a friend for me to realize that. That I had to change, or I would become worse than the enemy I'd set out to oppose."

He finally looked back up. 

"Vengeance is not justice. And no amount of anger, no war cry, no appeal to the wrongs done to you, can make it so.  
"This city doesn't need an avenger. This city needs justice, and equity, and compassion.  
"We don't need anger. We need love.  
"I love this city. And I will fight to my dying breath to see it restored."

\----------------------------------------------

“We’re here with Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen’s girlfriend.”

_A law degree, a successful non-profit that saved the lives of dozens of people, assistant district attorney, and what am I to these people? ‘Oliver Queen’s girlfriend.’_ Laurel stifled her irritation, and reminded herself that this was exactly the spin she was going for. 

“Ex-girlfriend” she corrected the news anchor smoothly. “We stopped dating after he cheated on me with my sister, leading to her death.” Laurel smiled brightly, poisonously.

“Of course; my apologies” he put in soothingly. His smile was that of a shark smelling blood. 24-hour news cycles required drama and outrage, and Laurel’s tone promised both.

The interview could have been considered exhausting, but Laurel had been arguing cases before the bench for years now. Tracking multi-layered conversations while controlling her facial expressions and body language and watching every word she said? Laurel was literally a pro. 

... 

“This must have been a big shock for you.”

Laurel put an a resigned expression. “Not as much as you’d think. Oliver Queen has always been impulsive and irrepressible. He’s certainly passionate … “ Laurel let a hint of a leer creep into her smile, “but not always good at directing that passion into useful channels. When I found out, I was certainly surprised. But once I thought about it for a few minutes, I realized it made perfect sense.” There. All perfectly true, even if someone found out who Black Canary was these days. 

…

“Well, obviously if there were a way take my vengeance, I’d want to follow up on that. I will remind you that the man is responsible for my sister’s death. That’s not the kind of thing you forgive overnight.”

…

“I hope you’re not suggesting that the DA’s office would sanction use of the law for a personal vendetta. We will bring charges against Oliver Queen for the crimes that he has demonstrably committed, based on evidence and due process of law.”

\----------------------------------

Backstage, Laurel began her post-trial calming ritual as she took off her microphone. A deep breath -- hold for as long as possible -- then another. Then she placed a small bet with herself as she reached for her phone. 

**From: Oliver Queen 02:17:23 PM**  
“That’s your idea of help??”

_Yes, Oliver, it is. You and I decorated tabloid covers for three years. If anyone so much as suspects that I talked the DA out of prosecuting you, the whole thing falls apart._

But it was the response she had expected -- _I win_ \-- and text message was not the medium for that conversation. So she sent back a single sentence, put her phone in her purse, and went to start on the next step of the plan. 

\----------------------------------------------------


	9. You Are Not Alone

Oliver's phone beeped. Felicity watched as Oliver dropped from the ceiling where he'd been doing upside-down sit-ups, and walked over to check it.

_Maybe it's Laurel. Maybe she'll calm him ..._ The thought was abandoned as Oliver set the phone down with more force than the manufacturer's recommended tolerances, and stalked back over to the salmon ladder.

Felicity considered asking him what the message was, but just as quickly discarded the idea. When Oliver got like this, it was best to avoid talking to him unless absolutely necessary. 

She glanced at Oliver, to ensure he was fully engaged, and then typed a command into her computer to bring up Oliver's phone records. Then she winced. 

**Me: 02:17:23 PM**  
“That’s your idea of help??”

**From: Laurel Lance 02:34:32 PM**  
“Name one thing I said that isn’t true.”

Felicity glanced up at Oliver. _Well, his abs are going to be in amazing shape..._

\-----------------------------------------------------------

_Clang_

Oliver closed his eyes, to focus better on the feel of his body, swinging down. 

_Clang_

There weren't many things in his life he could control. He cherished the ones he could. 

_Clang_

He'd learned to let go of perfection. In five years of exile, and three years of vigilantism, he'd never once pushed through a perfect plan. When your life's on the line 

_Clang_

you learn to accept imperfection as long as it works. But it still ate at him, every day. Doing less than he could.

_Clang_

Missing shots he should have been able to make 

_Clang_

Failing 

_Clang_

Failing this city.

This time, he missed his timing, and hung from the bar, dangling in midair. 

He dropped to the ground. 

_Failed again_

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Felicity looked up as she realized the lair had become quiet. Oliver was crouched on the mat beneath the salmon ladder, his head bowed.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

_This is my life._ Failure after failure. Never enough. 

Oliver forced his thoughts out of that rut, and tried to focus on what was really bothering him. 

_Laurel..._

Every day, on Lian Yu, the thought of Laurel had given him reason to fight, to survive. Even though he knew she'd never forgive him, he still had to speak to her again. He had to apologize. He promised himself it would be the first thing he'd do when he got back.

He could still hear Tommy's astonishment. "Everyone is happy you're alive. You want to see the one person who isn't?" But he couldn't rest until he'd seen her, told her he was sorry. And she'd been gracious. In time she'd even -- he'd thought -- forgiven him. 

He bowed his head, holding his breath. He knew he couldn't stop the tears, but he refused to sob out loud. 

It wasn't losing Laurel that hurt -- he'd done that before, and knew that he deserved it. It was knowing that everything they'd done together, every kind word she'd said to him since ... knowing that they were all lies. That was what froze his muscles, stopped his breath.

_I'm so sorry..._

\------------------------------------

Felicity bit her lip, feeling uncertain. If Oliver cried, she could go comfort him. But this strange, frozen posture ... it felt too intimate to interrupt. And what could she say? She wasn't his therapist, or even his girlfriend. She was his tech. What could a computer technician do to help?

She turned to her keyboard and pulled up her social media script.

\-------------------------------------

Eventually, through the pain, a sound registered in his mind. Typing. Keyboard. Computer. Felicity. 

Felicity.

Even if he'd lost Laurel, he hadn't lost everything. He had Felicity. He had Digg. He had Roy. 

Without Laurel on his team, this public-relations campaign had no hope, of course. He'd have to flee the country, to somewhere without an extradition treaty. But he still had friends. 

_You are not alone. And I believe in you._ He held onto the words as a lifeline as he forced himself to his feet.

"Hey." It was inadequate, but Felicity never seemed to mind when he couldn't manage eloquence.

She looked up at him and smiled. "Hey."

He looked around the basement. "Where's Digg? And Roy?"

"They ... uh... decided to give you some space."

He could see the tension in her shoulders, her neck, as she waited to see if he would explode in anger. He hated that he frightened her. He hated that a part of him searched for fear and weakness in everyone the saw -- even Felicity. But all he said was, "But not you?"

She smiled again. "I had some work to do. Running the numbers for Laurel... I've been tracking the effects of the YouTube campaign by analyzing social media .... "

Oliver couldn't understand half of her words, but he grasped the essence. Felicity had been providing numbers daily, saying the city was 54% on their side, 63%, 58% ...  
... now that would be down in the single digits. 

The sooner you get shot, the sooner you can start healing. _Get it over with._

"And what do the numbers look like?"

"I'm dividing it out right now based on viewership and participation in the community project, but broad strokes, it looks like we're at about 74% positive."

That ... Oliver blinked. "What?"

"Highest seems to be those who helped out at the soup kitchen. Next highest ... " Felicity typed some "is those who saw your Helena video _before_ Laurel's interview. Then those who saw Laurel's interview, then your video." She spun in her chair to face Oliver. "Most people who volunteered at the soup kitchen haven't been home to watch TV yet, so we don't have overlap numbers on those sets yet."

"I don't understand..." That was the highest number they'd seen yet. And ... seeing Laurel's interview gave higher ratings?

"What...?"

\------------------------------------

Felicity knew that look. She'd seen it when Oliver had realized they had a way to beat Slade. She'd dubbed it his "recalculating" face -- it was how he looked when something forced him to revise his assumptions, and so gave him cause for hope.

_We're on your side, Oliver. I promise._

"Oliver." She said gently. 

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he was looking right at her. Felicity took a breath to refocus, the way she always did when she looked in Oliver's eyes, and started again.

"Laurel ... is planning way far ahead on this ... campaign."

He didn't respond, but continued to gaze at her steadily.

"She made herself look like a total bitch. That whole interview ... it was designed to make you look reasonable and Laurel to look ... awful."

Now he broke eye contact, his eyes moving about the lair as he thought furiously. 

"It cost her a lot, to do that. To say that. The internet is forever. And it's predisposed to think of confident women as bitchy anyway. That superficial-jealous-lover image is going to follow her for the rest of her career."

Oliver was silent for a long moment. "Why ... ? Why would she...?" he asked quietly

Felicity smiled sadly. "Because she truly believes in you. In what you're doing. And she's on your team. She's going to help any way she can."

\------------------------------------- 

_I believe in you. And you are not alone._

This was Laurel's idea. She'd been working non-stop to bring it to fruition. She'd been patient with him as he struggled to stop being a vigilante and start being a video star. 

_You are not alone._

She hadn't said it out loud, with words. But Laurel had been saying that to him all week. Even when he didn't believe in himself, Laurel had known that others could and would believe in him. That he didn't have to be alone. 

Oliver's tears welled up again as he realized how badly he'd misunderstood. He took a deep breath, determined to get control of himself, only to have it knocked out of him again as Felicity threw her arms around him and squeezed.

\------------------------------------- 

This time, she could see his face. She could see the tears in his eyes. And for crying, she knew what to do. 

\------------------------------------ 

Laurel pulled her phone out of her purse, and swiped to read the text message that had just buzzed.

**From: Oliver Queen 07:03:45 PM**  
“Thank you.”


	10. Sunday 10:00:00PM: We did it!

“YouTube!”

Like the soup kitchen announcement, this video opened with a delighted exclamation. This time, though, his excitement matched my own. 

“You guys … “ Oliver smiled, and spread his hands. “.. are awesome!  
“After almost a year, the second kitchen at the Saint Francis Soup Kitchen is now once again under a roof. In one afternoon, you have doubled their ability to serve those of our city who are most in need.  
“Next week, they are going to repair the other half of the roof, and clean up the second kitchen to prepare it for use. If you’re available next Sunday afternoon, they could really use your help.  
‘No matter what, you have done a great thing.

He put his palm to his chest.

“Thank you. The people at St. Francis thank you.  
“We are one step closer to saving our city. You did good.  
“Thank you. Bless you. And we’ll do it again soon.”

I smiled. I hadn't really been looking forward to an extra day of manual labor, but it had been a good day. Just a few dozen people, working on something they cared about, was a nice thing to experience. I'd worked with Mr. Hudson before, and he was good people. He got my cell phone number, and said he'd call if he needed an extra worker some time. The workers at St. Francis had been so excited. They'd always been kind to me, and I was glad I could repay some of the hope they'd given me. Even if I'd be sore tomorrow.


	11. Monday 06:00:00AM: Glades Memorial

This one also opened with a clip from the local news: Sebastian Blood, in front of the hospital, two years ago, just after the earthquake. Back when the police couldn’t seem to find their way into the Glades, but the reporters, ever eager for stories of pain and misery, were willing to take the risk.

“That’s very compassionate of you, Mister Queen. Where was your family’s compassion when they designed and built an earthquake machine that killed 503 people?”

I nodded, remembering. I hadn’t been able to attend that rally, but I’d enjoyed the media coverage that evening, watching someone finally call out that rich bastard for …  
I choked on my cereal. But if Oliver Queen was the Arrow...

The scene shifted to Oliver, sitting on the stool, this time in the Arrow suit.

“After the earthquake, I felt like a failure. My dad asked me to do one thing, I had only one goal, and I left the city in ruins instead. I had failed the city.  
“And I couldn’t face that failure. I ran.  
“Some friends convinced me to come back. They said that even though we hadn’t stopped the Undertaking there were still people that needed my help.  
“I wasn’t sure I believed them. I wasn’t sure I had helped anyone.”

_I snorted. 40 million dollars l returned to the residents of the city? An innocent man taken off of death row? And he’s not sure if he helped anyone?_

“Even after I came back, I wasn’t sure what to do. This time I didn’t have a list; I didn’t know where to start.  
“But a friend told me about the problem at Glades Memorial; that the medicine was being hijacked. And I knew I could still help.  
“We tracked down when and where the shipments were being sent. The first time I tried to stop the Triad, I underestimated them. I slowed them down some, but they got the medicine all the same.

The screen showed Blood again, this time at the charity event that Oliver Queen had hosted and then skipped out on. The media had been there in force, and had gleefully covered Blood’s criticism of the Queen family. 

“I told Mr. Queen that this city's problems cannot be solved with his money. That he needs to stand up and be counted as someone who cares. So where is he now?”

Oliver returned to his story  
“My next opportunity was the next evening. The evening of the charity event I was sponsoring with Sebastian Blood. There is no scheduling appointments in this business; there is no putting things off. The Triad was moving, and I had to show up. I missed my own charity benefit… but the antibiotics got through. 

Blood, at the charity event  
”This city is dying. And it needs someone to stand up and breathe new hope into it.”

Oliver, on his stool  
“I guess what I learned that night is that failing doesn’t make you a failure. Yes. I failed the city. But that’s not a good reason to stop fighting -- that’s a reason to fight harder.  
"I don’t know if I can ever make up for all the times I’ve failed you. But I know that I will never stop trying. 

\-----------------------------

Laurel smiled when she checked her email first thing Monday morning. Her boss had called an all-hands meeting, at 9AM. _Good. That saves me the trouble of having to bring it up with her._ Laurel clicked "Accept", and started through the rest of her weekend email load.

"Just because there's potential for a public outcry doesn't mean we shouldn't bring charges!"

Heads turned towards her all along the table. Laurel was very good at identifying _exactly_ how far she could push her boss without getting pushback, and was usually careful to stay on this side of that line. But today she needed to go just a _bit_ farther than that.

_My coworkers should get a kick out of that._ she thought wryly. 

In pursuit of that goal, she said nothing, letting the silence stand, although it was obvious the DA was waiting for her to elaborate. She'd found it one of the best ways of irritating people -- she'd first perfected her technique with her father -- and it proved just as effective here. 

"Outcry?" the DA finally inquired. 

Laurel did her best to sound offhand. "I mean, yes, there are pages of tweets and thank-yous and praise, but that doesn't change the fact that his behavior is criminal."

"Yes, and you were kind enough to effectively speak for our entire department on live television." That was from Jim, who had long resented Laurel's ability to get her way within the department. 

The DA raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh?" She inquired mildly. 

Jim nodded eagerly, and tapped his laptop to wake it up. "I'll find the clip." Laurel waited in apparent unconcern, although she could feel everyone's eyes on her. Jim attached his laptop to the projector, and the conference room was filled with the sound of Laurel's voice.

"We will bring charges against Oliver Queen for the crimes that he has demonstrably committed, based on evidence and due process of law."

The district attorney turned to Laurel, her eyes narrowed. "That doesn't leave us much wiggle room, does it?"

It didn't take much effort to sound angry. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, for suggesting that this office intended to uphold the written laws of our city." _Watch it, girl!_ she thought. On the plus side, it was easy for her to get angry enough to act this part. On the minus side, angry people make miscalculations.

"Tone, Lance." Jim suggested sardonically. 

The DA was silent for a moment before reaching for the papers in front of her. "Yes, well, I have a list of charges from the police, that they suggest we file against Oliver Queen. Signed, coincidentally, by a Captain Quentin Lance." She looked over her reading glasses at Laurel.

Laurel seethed at the insinuation. _As if I would...!_ She clenched her fists, fighting for control. "I'm sorry; aren't we _supposed_ to be on the same side as the police?"

The DA opened her mouth to respond, but of course couldn't argue that point. Her glare informed Laurel that she wouldn't forget being embarrassed in front of her staff. She looked down at her paperwork.

"And quite a list, too. Murder .. vandalism .. trespass .. arson .. " She looked up at Laurel again. "Arson, Ms. Lance?" 

_I didn't write the bloody list_ Laurel thought irritably. _For one thing, that would require my stubborn ass of a father to listen to anything I say._ "Firefighters. Two years ago." she bit out. 

"That was definitively proven to be an ex-firefighter with a grudge!" Jim said triumphantly. 

"Indeed." the DA concurred. "It would appear this list is .. exaggerated, to say the least."

"We have to do what's best for this city!" Laurel cried. "We can't let some vigilante get away with deciding what's right and wrong anymore! Now we have a chance to bring him down; we have to.."

"We _have_... to stand for rule of law, as we always have done." the DA interrupted. "We can hardly claim to be upholding the law if we ourselves make use of legal extremism to pursue a personal vendetta." 

"It's not.." Laurel began.

"Enough, Ms. Lance!" The DA rarely raised her voice, and the volume of her words now shocked everyone into silence. 

The DA had been a trial lawyer for many years; she, too, knew when to let a silence stand. After everyone had become more than a little uncomfortable, she spoke again:

"Very well. We shall, as promised, bring charges for the crimes that Oliver Queen has demonstrably committed. Based on evidence. If you are so eager to bring him to trial, Ms. Lance, I suggest you begin assembling evidence quickly. I shall inform the press that we intend to investigate the allegations, and we will make our decision by the end of the week." The DA made eye contact with all of her staffers, and gave a nod to the room at large. 

As everyone began gathering their things, the DA rose and moved around the table to stand next to Laurel. "And Ms. Lance?" The room became suddenly still as everyone paused to eavesdrop. "Don't _ever_ again suggest that I will fail to do what's best for this city."


	12. We Are Team Arrow

#WeAreTeamArrow

  


The hashtag appeared the first time after Oliver's first video. Felicity didn't think much of it. Oliver was freaking out -- as close to panic mode as she'd seen him since Slade Wilson appeared in the Queen mansion -- and Felicity was focused on #ThankYouOliver to try to calm him down. Of course, she did note it and analyze it, so she could write her algorithm that sorted social media posts into positive or negative reactions. It was just a handful of people -- mostly the ones he'd specifically mentioned in his thank-yous. People who already considered The Arrow an inspiration, and allowed that inspiration to place an obligation on them: to join in the Arrow's crusade, to help Starling City however they could.

  


#WeAreTeamArrow

  


Quentin seethed, looking at the picture posted on the break-room fridge. He'd finally seen the video that had gone live while Laurel was in talking to him -- did that lunatic think that a public thank-you was going to change all lies, the manipulation, the betrayal? Undo all the damage he'd done? Quentin had locked the door to his office for a few hours; the few officers who'd dared to knock on his door had walked quickly away after catching a glimpse of his face through the glass.

This page was a screenshot from that video -- a shot of several officers during the night of the earthquake, pulling civilians out of a crevice that had split down the middle of thirteenth street. And written across the bottom was #WeAreTeamArrow. 

Quentin clenched his fists, and reached for the fridge to rip the sheet down, when Laurel's voice rang in his head. _Dad, that doesn't even make any sense._

He clenched his jaw, but lowered his hand. After a moment, he bowed his head.

Bad enough that he couldn't seem to talk to his own daughter anymore. Would he destroy his relationship with his men, too?

They were proud of what they'd done. And they should be. They saved a lot of lives that night. Would he tear that down? Tell them that their pride was unjustified? Let them see their captain rip down their celebration?

Quentin turned abruptly and walked out of the precinct building.

  


#WeAreTeamArrow

  


Ray stared out the window of his penthouse suite. Felicity stood behind him, but he knew she'd give him as much time as he needed. It was one of the many (many) things he loved about her -- she respected the importance of thinking, and never interrupted him unless it was _seriously_ important.

The revelation of Oliver Queen as the Arrow had come as a surprise, although it explained a lot of things about Felicity. Most notably, why he could never seem to get her full attention. He'd been worrying -- and trying to dismiss that worry -- that she'd been in love with Oliver Queen, but that had seemed too absurd. And he'd tried to convince himself that her time spent working with the Arrow was just, you know, Felicity being dedicated to her job. But if they were one and the same, then Oliver really was a rival. And if Ray agreed to support Oliver, he was essentially giving up Felicity...

_Bloody Hell, Palmer, get your head out of your ass. It's not about Getting the Girl. It's about saving the city._

And the truth was ... this was a much better plan to save the city. Felicity was right -- _of course; it's Felicity_ \-- it made a lot more sense to combat the problems at their source, rather than fighting the symptoms. Give people the ability stand up for themselves, and they wouldn't _need_ a superhero to stand up for them.

_But ... my suit_... Ray was a geek. A nerd. He loved Star Trek, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings. He'd dreamed of becoming a hero, saving the day. It was what he'd always wanted: to be Picard, Luke, Frodo. To be the one who saved the city.

But more than that, he wanted the city saved. If he could ensure that no other fiance would ever have to crouch wailing in the street over the body of his beloved, begging God for the opportunity to trade billions of dollars for one more hour together... _It would be worth losing Anna and Felicity both._

He swallowed hard and turned his back to the window. Felicity was there, waiting patiently. "You swear, that he had nothing to do with these recent killings?"

"May I live a thousand years and never hack again."

Ray choked back a laugh, amazed once again at how happy she made him. _I bet Oliver doesn't even_ recognize _a well-placed Princess Bride reference, the ingrate._ "And this is, in your opinion, the best way to help Starling City?"

Felicity shrugged. "You've run a start-up." She paused as Ray raised an eyebrow at her. "What? I read your biography. Anyway, you know that in any human endeavor designed to deliver a new outcome under conditions of extreme uncertainty, there _is_ no way to know what's best. You try everything, and you see what works." She nodded towards his workbench. "No one's asking you to give up the suit. Only to help us try another thing. You have to admit, it's at least an MVP worth testing."

Ray had started nodding halfway through. She was right; of course she was right. "Then I guess I'm...happy to join the … Arrow Startup. What do you want me to do?"

  


#WeAreTeamArrow

  


The hashtag cropped up again shortly after the barn-raising at St. Francis. It was being used to discuss the project, the work that had been done. And since Starling-area volunteers were congregating there, soon it was being used to organize other projects. 

     My uncle needs some help hauling wood, 19th and Peck. Can anyone help? #WeAreTeamArrow 

     If we took a couple hours, we could open up that alley between Pap and Ting that's been blocked since the earthquake. #WeAreTeamArrow 

     We could start a community garden on the empty lot on 14th. Anyone help us get the soil turned over? #WeAreTeamArrow 

Felicity sent a summary to Laurel, and set up scripts to monitor and boost that conversation. 

  


#WeAreTeamArrow

  


"Laurel! Thank you for coming."

Laurel stepped inside as Thea stood back to admit her.

"This is a _very_ nice place, Thea." Laurel looked around, taking in the decor. "A good choice for your first no-longer-living-with-the-parents home."

"Yeah, well, I'm the only one around here who still has money, apparently." Thea paused. "That's kind of why I asked you here, actually."

Laurel tilted her head questioningly. 

Thea gestured to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Laurel sat down, and Thea joined her at the other end of the sofa.

"You know that as... Malcolm Merlyn's biological daughter, I inherited his money." Laurel nodded. "He actually uses quite a lot of it, but since he's legally dead, and it legally belongs to me, he can't stop me doing whatever I want with it. And anyway, there's a _lot_ of money in the Merlyn fortune. I can give away rather a large chunk of it without him even noticing."

Laurel raised an eyebrow. "Give to whom?"

Thea turned to face Laurel directly. "I was at the community project. For the soup kitchen?"

Now both Laurel's eyebrows rose. "Does Ollie know that?"

Thea smiled. "Not yet. He was ... distracted ... by your TV interview."

Laurel grimaced, but made no comment. 

Thea's smile changed to one of sympathy and encouragement. "But Digg saw me, so I assume Ollie will eventually know. But that's not the point. The point is, the Glades could use a lot more of that kind of thing, right?"

Laurel nodded. "Sure..."

"And not just that kind of thing. Someone to organize neighborhood watches. Someone to set up substance-abuse rehabilitation programs. Someone to offer micro-finance and business advice to people who want to start stores or restaurants or construction companies."

Laurel nodded again. That was the sort of thing she'd been thinking of, but clearly Thea had put a lot of thought into the details.

"You can't do that right now, because all of that takes money. But it doesn't take _a lot_ of money. I've been talking to Roy, and most of the things that would do the most good are just a few full-time employees, or a few thousand-dollar loans. So a non-profit could make a lot of difference with a relatively small endowment."

Laurel's eyes widened. "Are you... ?"

Thea nodded, and then smiled. "I was thinking we could call it the Rebecca Merlyn Memorial Foundation."

Laurel sat back and thought through the implications. Not only did this move her timetable up considerably, it also was a strong statement from two of the worst offenders among the city's 1-percenters. Every remaining member of the Queen family would have a strong stake in fighting for the Glades, and every known member of the Merlyn family would as well. That would make many of the other elite more comfortable declaring for their side. 

"What about the Thomas Merlyn Foundation?"

"I thought about naming it after Tommy." Thea admitted. "It's really his money that's funding it; it should never have gone to me in the first place. But I like Rebecca because..." Thea paused, struggling to find the right words. "Well, for one thing, if we were able to ask Tommy, I'm pretty sure he'd tell us to name it after his mom." 

Laurel nodded agreement. 

"And ... she's the one who cared about the Glades, and the future of those people. She knew it was dangerous, running her clinic down there, but she felt it was worth risking her life for. So this foundation is really continuing her life's work. My father intended the Undertaking to kind of ... honor her memory? So I like the idea of using his money to build her a better memorial."

Thea looked away, staring at the fire for a long time. Finally she looked back at Laurel. "Even now, even two decades later, every time he hears her name, he freezes. It hurts him, to remember. To hear her name, attached to her life's work, and know that we gave her a better memorial than he ever dreamed ... it will be like a dagger through his heart every time."

Thea's lips thinned, as if she weren't terribly pleased with what she was about to say. "So that's my condition. If I fund this, I want her name plastered all over the news. Everywhere in the city. I want him to hear or read her name every single day." She met Laurel's eyes and raised her chin, ashamed and defiant. She swallowed, but didn't back down.

Laurel smiled. "I think that can be arranged." 

  


#WeAreTeamArrow

  


Felicity's computer beeped -- a new use of #WeAreTeamArrow had been found, and her script notified her that it didn't fit into previously-established patterns. Curious, she followed the link. 

This one was a Facebook page. Felicity scrolled quickly, scanning the posts.

The gist of it was that gang warfare, always at a simmer in the Glades, had broken out while Oliver was gone, leading to a series of vengeance-killings rivaling the Hatfields and McCoys. But recently family members of victims had started begging the remaining gang members _not_ to continue the chain. And they were quoting Sunday's video. 

     Vengeance is not justice. #WeAreTeamArrow

     This city doesn't need an avenger. This city needs justice, and equity, and compassion. #WeAreTeamArrow

     I love this city. And I will fight to my dying breath to see it restored. #WeAreTeamArrow #JusticeNotVengeance

Felicity grabbed her cell phone. "Laurel? Yeah, so.. if Thea can wrangle up some money _quickly_ , we have a great place to make use of a mediator...."

  


#WeAreTeamArrow

  


Laurel stood in her boss' office, watching as the DA read over her report. She'd spent a week working -- admittedly not very hard -- to gather hard evidence that could be used to bring Oliver to trial. 

The DA finally looked up. "Have you been following this affair online?" she inquired. 

_Lady, I literally haven't thought about anything else for more than a week, now._ Laurel thought. But that would not be a helpful thing to say out loud. Instead she tilted her head inquiringly. "Hm?"

The DA rotated her monitor so Laurel could read it. She had several tabs up -- a search for #WeAreTeamArrow on Twitter, a Facebook page, thank-you-oliver.tumblr.com, and -- ha! -- the Glades Memorial video, paused. Laurel couldn't see how far in the video the DA was, but she would have been willing to bet money it was at the point where Sebastian Blood sicced a mob on Oliver. _You don't find that a very comfortable idea, do you boss? Not when there's a chance that mob could be turned on you._ The top tab was the Facebook page, where a mediation event had just been announced -- a chance for rival gang members to meet face to face, under what Capulets and Montegues would have called a "banner of truce". 

After an appropriate amount of time pretending to read, Laurel looked back up at her boss. "So?"

"So there appears to have been a great deal of good in this city brought about by Mr. Queen and his revelations." 

"Are you saying that somehow ... what? Negates his criminal behavior?"

"Alleged criminal behavior. The Starling City District Attorney is not in the habit of pursuing prosecutions on the basis of YouTube videos."

"But the evidence..."

"Ah yes. The evidence. The -- one presumes -- best work of Ms. Laurel Lance over the course of a week. And what do we find?" The DA flipped through the pile. "Hearsay ... circumstantial ... circumstantial ... non-admissible ... hearsay." She rapped the pile on her desk to straighten it, and looked up at Laurel. "The press conference is at 3:30 today. So as to maintain the appearance of departmental unity, I will inform them that 'We will bring charges against Oliver Queen for the crimes that he has demonstrably committed, based on evidence and due process of law.'" Laurel winced; although the DA had quoted her words correctly, to have them thrown in her face like this could be nothing but a reprimand. "I will also inform the press that our research has turned up insufficient evidence to warrant an indictment." The DA paused, and raised her eyebrows. "In light of your excellent past work in this department, I will _not_ mention that it was you who failed to find sufficient evidence of your own vendetta." The DA held eye contact for a moment longer, then turned back to her computer. "You may go."

Laurel stood for a moment, clenching her fists. "Thank you, ma'am" she spat out in a tight voice, and walked quickly away. 

She kept walking, outside, down the block, and around the corner. It would ruin the whole thing if anyone at the office saw her celebrate. She pulled out her cellphone, and texted Felicity. "We did it!" Then -- now 3 blocks away from the courthouse -- she called Oliver. 


	13. Friday 06:00:00PM: The Truth is.. You Are The Arrow

"YouTube!"

_YouTube? Really? I'm on YouTube?_ Oliver still had trouble believing it. But... Laurel had been right. 

It still terrified him, this talking. It was hard enough talking to Digg. He'd struggled to talk to Roy. Running into burning buildings, facing down gunmen, staring into the eyes of someone who was determined to kill him -- that he could handle. But every time he tried to talk, tried to open up... he froze. A terror he never felt when it was merely his life on the line informed him that this was a _horribly bad idea_ , and it felt as if he truly _could not_ continue.

But he had to. Laurel was right. And Felicity. And Digg. They deserved to know. They deserved to hear. 

He couldn't make it seem normal. It took all his willpower to talk at all. But he closed his eyes and forced himself to continue.

"For 5 years, I was alone. Then I arrived back in Starling City and... to be honest, I was still alone.

"I had some people to help me, and I am so truly grateful to them. Without my friends, I would never have lived to see this day, much less accomplished anything along the way. Any good I have done, any benefit you have seen, is entirely due to the team of people who backed me up over the last three years.

"But even so... we were half a dozen people. Against -- what felt like -- a never-ending downpour of corruption and terror. We fought every night, we rebuilt every day, and still, it was like trying to drain the ocean with a wine glass. No matter how much we did, still people were overwhelmed, suffering, struggling. We could fix some of the worst of the problems, but we couldn't truly make it better.

"But you. You guys. You were here. You can fix it. You can save this city.

"All I had to do..." Oliver's chest compressed, and for a moment he couldn't speak at all. 

"All I had to do..." He drew on his practice with Shado, on Tatsu's training in how to calm himself, "... was trust you."

When he opened his eyes, he found Roy standing right where he always was, always ready to do whatever Oliver might ask.

Oliver smiled at him. "I should have known. I should have turned to you from the beginning. You have been, through all of this hell, strong, and faithful, and dependable. You have kept this city alive despite everything its enemies could throw at you. 

"This isn't about arrows. Or lists, or vendettas, or stopping terrorists. Those might have been tools I used in the beginning, but they were never the point.

"This is about Starling. This city." He looked at Digg. "Our city. Our home.

"This is about justice." He looked at Laurel. "About making sure that whatever your income, whatever your skin color, everyone lives under the same laws, and receives the same benefits.

"This is about opportunity." He looked at Felicity. "About creating a city where anyone, regardless of their origins or their family background, can succeed and become remarkable.

"This is about equality." He looked back at Roy. "Because there are amazing people in every part of this city, and every one of them deserves to be healthy, and safe, and happy.

"I started this crusade, I became the Arrow, to make that dream a reality. But after three years of trying ... I ... I can't. I don't have the ability to make those things happen. 

"But you do.

"You can help little girls understand their math homework. 

"You can teach carpentry to middle-schoolers, and even if they don't ever need to join 2x4s, they still learn excellence, and precision, and self-reliance. 

"You can keep theatres running, and art galleries open, even when funding is cut and no one understands. Because when just one person is touched by a painting, or a song, or a dance ... it makes it all worthwhile.

"You can build homes. You can listen compassionately. You can make people laugh.

"And I know that it doesn't feel like much. It doesn't feel heroic. 

"But it's the lifeblood of this city. It is what makes us great. It is beautiful, and it is good, and it makes this world better. But it is hard, and it is overwhelming, and it takes courage to continue.

"And that is what heroism is.

"The truth is ... you are the Arrow. You are the heroes who have saved this city. Who are saving this city. Who are the role models and leaders and visionaries that Starling needs. 

"If I am the most visible and well-known face of that, then I am honored and proud to represent such a good and amazing movement. But it will never again be my team, and never again my crusade. 

"You are Team Arrow."


End file.
